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TRAVEL MEMOIRS
The Astronaut in Seat 25F
Crossing the final frontier of modern travel
A week before the first billionaire journeyed to the edge of space, I was taking my first flight. I remember reading about the Virgin Atlantic rocket that would soon lift its creator to incredible heights, as I plotted my own course through the sky. I would travel from Alicante, Spain, to Exeter, England — an 800-mile trip that turned out to be more difficult than sending a man into space.
I arrived at the airport, only to discover that my flight didn’t exist. To add insult to injury, it had been cancelled at least a month before. The airline simply failed to inform me.
There I was, Covid-19 PCR results in hand, luggage in tow, twitching smile plastered to my face; having everything I needed for take-off — minus a plane.
I would like to say that I showed the calm poise of a seasoned traveller. A man like myself — easy-going, with a semi-rational brain — should be unflappable in such situations. The truth is, I reacted the way I always do when something goes wrong on the road. With a defeatism that borders on insanity.
“Of course, I don’t want to eat anything!” I snapped on the phone to my girlfriend, who suggested we meet for lunch to find an alternative flight. “You’re…
